


Blaze

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:13:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“Remembering. I might one day forget even you, Thoros, and I do not desire it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blaze

**Author's Note:**

> Probably only rated teen but better to be safe than sorry.

They hang him.

The bastards hang him as though he were nothing more than a common criminal, as though he were not a lord, a good and brave lord who is their better in more ways than just birth. Ser Amory Lorch hangs him, as though he has any right to do so, as though somehow Lord Beric Dondarrion, the Lightening Lord, has become less than he once was.

Thoros knows the truth, that Beric is more now than he ever was. The Red God has seen to that.

They wait, he and Anguy and Ned, they wait in the trees. They can see as Beric and young Tam and Rof are strung up. Anguy holds Ned back. The boy still does not trust the Lord of Light, believes every time really will be Beric’s last. Thoros doesn’t tell them that he feels the same way. 

His hands itch as Beric is strung up. His lord doesn’t say a word, not a word, because he doesn’t trust his Red God either, and if this is the last he will die with his dignity intact.

_Even if it is Amory fucking Lorch who passes the sentence._

They run, soon after, when Tam has stopped kicking. They run, the Lannister dogs, because they have heard the whispers. They don’t want to find out if Beric Dondarrion is really what people say he is.

Ned gets there first and climbs the tree to cut them down. Tam and Rof fall like sacks of flour but Thoros cannot mourn them. They are boys, little older than Ned, but he cannot mourn. The Red God has made him so.

He kisses Beric and the living hold their breaths just as sure as the dead and for a beat there is nothing and Thoros feels rage rise in his gut. He’s gone, he’s really gone and he never got a chance-

And then Beric sits up and coughs. He has an angry red wound around his neck, one that will scar worse than the others, and Ned throws his arms around him and mumbles into his shoulder and Beric allows it, because Ned is a boy and the boy is terrified.

Thoros holds back, the pounding if his heart steadying a little. They diced with R'hllor again and won. Maybe they won. He is starting to think they are only being allowed to win and he wonders why, but then Beric needs help to stand and he offers his arm. They rode there, the three of them, and now Anguy takes Tam’s body and Ned takes Rof’s. Beric rides behind Thoros, who keeps the horse slow and steady for his sake. 

He does not need to look at Beric to know that he is looking at his dead companions. The Red God offers him nothing but torment. Thoros offers him nothing but torment, this man he loves so very much. He is the one to do the Red God’s work, and he alone, but he does not know how to stop.

They bury Tam and Rof and raise a cup of ale to their lives, cut short brutally and unfairly. Thoros feels guilty at his relief they are not also toasting Beric.

That night, Thoros drinks too much wine. He always drinks too much wine but he does not know how much longer he can bear the weight of his secret, the flames that threaten to engulf him. He drinks too much wine because Tam and Rof’s dead eyes haunt him, the promises of what their lives could have been left unfulfilled. He always imagined he would one day die in the noose. He does not want his promise left unfulfilled either. 

Beric does not sleep, not anymore. He is allowed no rest and so he is awake when Thoros seeks him out. Thoros does not know what he is doing but he sits beside him. He is always welcome, he knows. The others have scattered, some to an inn they know, some to sleep outside in the warmth under the stars.

They are alone.

“How old were they?” Beric asks, his voice rasping from the noose, “The boys? I can’t remember.”

“Tam was seventeen, Rof a year or so younger,” Thoros says, guilt making him sullen, “You should not dwell on it. It was not your fault.”

“I lead them,” Beric says, a flash of that shining knight he had once been rippling across his scarred and aged face like a spirit, “It is always my fault.”

Thoros does not answer immediately. He edges closer.

“You must not blame yourself. The Lord of Light chose you, not them.”

Beric smiles sadly and the shining knight is gone. The Lord of Corpses, old before his time, is back in place.  
“He cannot mean to leave me like this forever. What does he want Thoros? What does he want me to do?”

It is a question he has asked before and Thoros has no answer. Beric knows he doesn’t have one. Thoros is as much the Red God’s plaything as he is.

They sit in the glow of the fire. It is a warm night and Thoros feels as though his blood is boiling but he will stay here for Beric. Perhaps his blood is boiling for Beric. It would not be the first time, and then he thinks again of those boys and before he can think again, he has spoken.

“Beric-”

His lord turns sorrowful eyes to him and Thoros feels the wine in his blood and in his head and he can no longer stop himself. He moves forward and topples Beric over and he kisses him. He has kissed him before but this is different. At any moment Beric could throw him off. At any moment Beric will throw him off and then –

-and Beric is kissing him too.

Thoros pulls away and sits up and Beric struggles to do the same.

“What-”

“You stopped,” Beric says, “Why-”

Nothing makes sense.

Everything makes sense.

Thoros kisses him again and Beric whimpers and at that sound Thoros could almost be kissing the handsome young lord he once unhorsed, a thousand years ago. A handsome young lord he decided was worth his attention for his gallantry and good humour alone. Thoros could not have loved that man though, not like he loves this one, this broken and perfect man. 

This man who owes him everything and to whom he owes so much more.

Beric curls his hand in Thoros’ jerkin and pulls him to the ground once more. He clings to him so tightly that Thoros cannot get away, although he does not desire to. Beric clings to him as tightly as he clings to life, to the memories of who he once had been.

“Thoros,” he whispers, “Thoros-”

Thoros silences him with another bruising kiss and then kisses his face, kisses his scars, kisses his neck where the fresh wound is flushed an angry red. Beric’s grip falters and he trembles and Thoros moves. 

His own desire is growing but he fights it, fights it because Beric does not know what he wants. He might never know for sure, not really. Beric moves his hand slowly over Thoros’ face and he closes his eyes as he does so.

“What are you doing?”

“Remembering. I might one day forget even you, Thoros, and I do not desire it.”

Thoros sighs and closes his eyes too, until he feels Beric’s fingers trailing down his neck. He shivers, despite the warmth, and opens his eyes again. Beric’s silent plea is clear even in the shadows cast on his face.

Thoros moves by instinct. He does not know what he is doing, not really, and Beric is still that young man he once was, but they move slowly and they find a clumsy rhythm, and soon Thoros can no longer see, so he holds onto Beric and he groans and hears Beric’s response ripped from his throat, and he knows that, just for now, the Lord of Light has gone and it is only them.

**Author's Note:**

> For my captain ;)


End file.
